Cotton Candy - Or in this case, the day has not met its beginning. The sun smoothly climbs the cold steel plates of the Guggenheim only to watch us getting out of Bilbao heading towards the Picos da Europa. The land tearing the shores towards the sky while feet revel in the mist that harasses its roots.Soon we’ll return to this place, but now it is time to hear the chants of the Cantabrico to the solitary shores of a Coruña. Cotton candy. Rubbing of metal wheels on rails of lost angles. My kingdom for one hour of sleep (Joao Rui)